Nonfiction - The Lost

In the mirror, from across the room, I see him and wonder; Is he one of the Lost?

They stare off into space with the experience of being lonely. What life do they lead where they sit here on a sunday night nursing their beer, all alone? Their jackets and clothes show they have a sense of style yet they wear it without poise or stance.

What happened along the way, that they lost their sense of worth? Why dont they care? Ah, but the bartender knows him! And when spoken to, he comes alive.

And then he's alone; He settles back into, what is it, misery? Contemplation? Lonliness?

Eh.

Its probably not my place to judge those who have lost their way. After all, Ive been there.

And tonight I am there.

Here and now, in the moment, I am one of the Lost

-- The Bastard

Post sent via e-mail, via cell-phone.

Fiction - Moment of Doubt

It was a particularly bad day for me. You could tell by the darkness in my eyes when I walked in the door, I think.

You knew what was coming. When I need a release, you give yourself over to me; eager to please.

You knew where this was going to go, didn't you?

So when I look down at you, legs and arms strapped and spread-eagled on my bed, a series of clamps on your tits, and a blindfold over your eyes... why do I feel sorrow?

What is this guilt that forces me to pause? Am I taking out my anxieties on you? Am I using you, unfairly?

I watch you breathe. You're flushed and excited. In the back of my mind, a voice reminds me that "she likes this".

You like this. You enjoy the things I do to you. The way I touch you. The way I torture you.

When you're tied up, and you don't know whether it's going to be ice, wax, whips, biting or my hand smacking your skin, it drives you nuts, doesn't it?

And the things I say.

I've said them before, and I'll say them again. "Whore". "Slut".

Whore.

Yes, you're a whore.

No, you're my whore.

My whore.

I reach for my flogger, and bring it down on your wet, throbbing cunt.

Yes.

It flies through the air again, and you cry out from the leather smacking your wet pink flesh. Oh yes. I whip you several more times, then pause, and watch your body enjoy the sensations.

That's it. Beg me.

Beg me for more.

This is who I am. This what you want.

This what we both want.

-- The Bastard, Resolved

Fiction - How did I forget?

My fingers wrap around her neck as I plunge into her. For those first few moments, I'm in nirvana; No matter how many times I sink inside, it's that initial moment of wetness and warmth that makes me love sex.

I absorb her heat, and like so many times before, I press my hips forward, fingernails digging into her neck. Nirvana hits me again, as my body cries out for release. God, I love this.

As the rhythm and pleasure increases, a nagging doubt blossoms into a thought.

Why don't you trust her?

No. No. Nonononono.

No.

My anger, based on a gut instinct that refuses to die, carries over; I channel my rage into lust, and drill my shaft into her repeatedly.

The doubt fades, and I am sated. But I'm furious over my insecurities. My blood is boiling, and I need an outlet. Blindly, I take it out on the nearest object. Her.

My fingernails move from her neck, down her spine, nails digging into her back. She arches and cries out, body opening to meet my increasing thrusts. My face twists into a snarl. Yes, scream out, good.

You don't really know where she was today, do you?

Oh jesus fuck, god. Please. Don't do this. Make the doubt stop. Why can't I trust her?

Because it started wrong. Because she's never given you a reason to trust her.

It's not my fault, is it?

No.

No. I'm not giving into this. Not this. Not now. Why does this always happen now?

My seething emotions are starting to take their toll. Her body is shaking as I pound into her. I've been fucking her as hard as I can, reserves of energy pouring out of me. She's moaning, and her skin is flushed and..

Oh god, I'm using her. I'm taking it out on her.

And she loves it.

Stop fighting this; It's what inside you. And maybe she doesn't know WHY you're doing it, but does it look like she car-

Shut up.

I close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

I need to finish this. Before I lose control.

Now.

I reach around, and slide my fingers into the slight cleft in her flesh. The small bump is found, and my finger swiftly slides over it, then moving up and down.

Just as she likes it. Her body snaps back, as she begins pulsing underneath me.

Yes, this needs to finish.

You need to be honest with yourself. Then with her.

Fuck. You.

"What?" She pants out loud.

Oh christ. Did I just... dammit.

"Nothing," I murmur, stroking her clit faster.

"Ohh.." She groans, head dropping. I bring my hand down into her ass, and she lets out another shriek. I thrust into her again, focusing all my energy to one end.

I need to finish this, before I fall apart.

And then she explodes. I am caught unaware, as her body clamps down on my shaft. I follow suit, releasing pent-up passion, lust, and rage into her body. My cock pumps into her, empyting the precious white liquid she loves so much.

I slide out, body shaking. My mind rattles inside it's bony cage. Right now, I don't want to be here. I don't want to be with her.

Oh god.

I don't want to be with her.

No, you don't.

I look up to her, and she smiles.

"That was amazing," She whispered. "You were just...what happened? All of a sudden, you were just... mmm."

I smile weakly, and nod. I have no words, now do I?

Oh, god. How did I miss this? How is it that love and lust and laughter and hot sex and great fun together aren't enough?

How did I forget trust?

What do I do?

-- The Torn Bastard.

Fiction - Watch and Touch

You reach for the solitary glass of red wine, and look down on your naked body. A coy smile crosses your face, as you slowly pour the wine over your breasts. Your head rolls back, as the liquid drenches your skin.

I stand up, ready to assist, but you wave me away. I'm "allowed to watch, but not touch", apparently.

Hrm.

Your hand slides down in-between your legs. Ah, you've shaved. What a wonderful woman you are.

You glance my way, as you slide one finger in-between your legs. My jaw drops and my crotch rises; Blood pounds through my ear, as you begin exploring yourself. Your finger maneuvers it's way past your flesh, as my fingers unzip my pants.

I catch up quickly, then match tempos. My wrist moves up and down, as your wrist slides in and out.

Our eyes lock, and it wordlessly becomes a challenge. Who will get there first? Who will moan louder? Who will erupt harder.

Dirty words float across the air as we entice each other. Random thoughts and whispers become solid temptations, as we compel each other to the finish.

Our eyes lock, and minds empty at the same time, as it hits us.

At the same time.

Waves of energy and lust wrack our bodies as we cry out.

I curse "fuck".

You curse "God".

Our bodies twist and turn, pleasure engulfing our flesh and soul. I look over at you, breasts glistening in the candlelight.

I stand up, knees weak; I walk over to the bed, and push your hand away. With one thrust, I'm deep inside you.

I watch you. As I fuck you.

--The Observant Bastard

Nonfiction - The look in my eye

I know what I want. Deep down, I think we all do, right? It's just working towards the goal, that can be frustrating.

So, on my worst days, when a cloud passes over my head, I have two options: Give in to the darkness and be foul, or channel it. Most of the time, I choose the latter.

I funnel my misery and rage into my hormones. I don't know if it's healthy, but I know it makes me feel better. And that's most important.

Then there are days like today, when the darkness threatens to overwhelm me. So, I take a deep breath, and find a picture or a memory or a fleeting thought. And once I find it, I grab hold, and don't let go.

Deep inside, I take the misery and I twist and molest it; Moments later, my head rises, and that smirk is back on my face. There's lust in my soul, and I want. And I crave.

It's that look in my eye. The one where I may be looking AT you, but I'm definitely seeing you naked, and thinking about doing a great many things to you.

This is the only good thing to come out of my misery. The energy forces me to become a predator. And you are the prey. I get smarter, faster, and hungrier.

... I just don't know if it's a good thing.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Drunken Explosion

I collapsed into my bed, wide-eyed but exhausted. Another night of partying would take it's toll in the morning, I was sure. But, in the meantime, dirty thoughts parade through my head.

Too late to make any phone calls, but not too late for my right hand. And so I strip quickly, and climb under the blanket. Warm, but not hot. The tv played in the back-ground, but my attention was focued on one thing:

Release.

I wrap my fingers around my shaft (oh look! Already hard; it read my mind) and stroke gently. My eyes closed, and a smile formed on my face. I moaned slightly (as I usually do when aroused) and twisted my hips slightly.

God, I love it. My body surges with energy and lust. In my mind, images of decadence flash before me. I see her showing up at my door, wearing little. I eagerly remove her clothes, and start Doing Things To Her.

Oh, God. I can taste her. Jesus, I just... WANT.

My ass lifts off the bed, as my wrist increases the tempo. I can feel some wetness on my fingers now. Should I slow down, and enjoy it?

Fuck that. I'm trashed. I want an orgasm, NOW.

My hand moves faster. I imagine what it's like the first time I slide into her, feeling her pussy accept me, watching her face roll in pleasure.

Oh yeah. Then I gt a little rougher. I chew on her nipples, I fuck her harder. Is there someone else there? Another woman touching herself?

I can't tell. But, oh shit, that thought gets me going. Now I'm moaning in my apartment, body throbbing. My legs rub against each other, and my head sinks into the pillow. I wonder if my neighbor can hear me? I don't care.

Ohh. So close now. Yes. Yes. Harder. More. Christ, I'd fuck her. I just want to feel that... oh god. Yes.

Yes.

And in one split second, my blood rushes to the center of my body, all my energy evaporates, as if being sucked into a black hole. I hold my breath, go still...

And it hits me.

The energy slams back into me, magnified tenfold. My breath, caught in my throat, sends the release barrelling through my system. God, I almost see stars.

Another wave hits and I cry out.

....

Oh...

God.

Fuck.

....

I pant, and moan. Sweat drips down my face. My head is throbbing. Both of them. I can hear the blood racing through my system, and I laugh.

I love it.

...And now I want more.

--The Wanting Bastard.

Fiction - In me, In her.

Her body hovered over me like a light cloud on a breezy day. A mixture of perfume, sex, sweat, and wine assaulted my senses, while her fingers teased my shaft. I reached in-between her naked legs, but she swatted my hand away.

"Nuh uh." She grinned. Her body centered over mine, knees pressed against my legs. She leaned backwards, away from me, and straddled my chest.

"Hi." She smiled, running her fingers through my hair.

"Hey, " I replied, reaching up for her nipples.

My hand were smacked away again.

"Nuh uh." She laughed. Her voice, beautiful and bright, was infectious. I laughed back. She reached behind her, and wrapped her fingers around me again, wrist moving up and down.

"Oh. Umm.." My laugh died quickly, as my body relaxed.

The only sounds for the next few minutes were my moans, and the sounds of sweaty skin meeting sweaty skin.

My blood raced and back arched as she fell backwards slightly. She lifted upwards, and maneuvered her hips over me. Her hand guided my shaft so that the tip was inside her, though just barely.

Her head snapped back, as her body started to sink down on me. Her hips swallowed half my length, then raised again. Slowly, teasingly, I watched as she groaned, her legs widened, and she impaled myself inside her body.

Her lips were slightly apart, as another groan erupted. I could feel her pussy clenching onto me, as her hands reached up and rubbed her nipples.

I reached over to her hips, and lifted her body slightly. There was no slapping of my hands this time, as she eagerly moved upwards, following my guiding. I watched in rapt pleasure, while she rode me.

And fucked me.

Her pussy alternated from tight to relaxed at her whim; I had never felt so used as she bounced faster on my dick. I loved it.

Her moans increased, as did the tightness of her pussy. She fell forward, and attached her lips to my neck, arms wrapped around my head.

"Cum in me..." She panted. Her body tightened, and her hips slammed down onto me; I pushed upwards involuntarily, as my hands grabbed her ass. My mind shut off as my balls pumped upwards, and I exploded.

Her teeth bit into my ear, as she climaxed. She shuddered once, then again, as I erupted inside her. Our bodies heaved up and down, as we both emptied of lust.

She stretched and purred, her hands stroking my face. She kissed my chest and sat up slowly.

Her hips rose and fell, as she began fucking me again...

--The Back-In-Action Bastard

Nonfiction - Apologies...

One minor laptop meltdown, a nagging illness, and a quiet lethargy have all contributed to the sense of watching the tumbleweeds blow around here.

More to come, soon.

-- The Weary Bastard.

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle Dirty Girl... (pt. 7)

Why am I quiet?

You really want to know?

...

Fair enough.

I'm looking at your hair, and imagining what it's going to look like tomorrow morning, when I roll over in bed.

Hmm?

*laughter*

Look at me in the eye, and try to convince me that you're not going to be naked, 10 minutes after we walk through my apartment door. And since we're only 5 minutes away... that means 15 minutes from now, you're already going to have small bite marks on your tits.

Really. Reaaaaalllly.

Well, I think you're wrong.

Yeah.

And you know it, don't you?

...

What, no response? Smart girl.

You did ask me what I was thinking. And you ARE walking back to my place. God, that must drive you crazy on ten different levels, doesn't it? Which bothers you more, that I pegged you for what you're like, or the fact that you don't like people knowing?

What?

Oh, it was the twinkle. Yeah, the one in the corner of your eye. It gave you away, it's your achilles heel.

Oh, and in response to your question of "what am I thinking?", I'm also wondering how tight your thighs are going to feel around my skull in a little bit.

... Well, if I was wrong, would we be at my door?

... You coming in?

--

(to be continued)